


So Wrong But So What?

by alannablue



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Abusive John Winchester, F/M, John Winchester Being an Asshole, John Winchester's A+ Parenting, Top John Winchester
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-17
Updated: 2016-09-17
Packaged: 2018-08-15 11:05:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,457
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8053885
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alannablue/pseuds/alannablue
Summary: "I know this isn't right, but it doesn't feel that way right *now*, and my hands are moving of their own volition around him, clutching his back and pulling him closer. Oh, god, I'm so fucked."





	So Wrong But So What?

**Author's Note:**

> Alanna is an Original Female Character. Of course it's largely autobiographical. These men are hotttt.
> 
> Not beta'd by anyone, so if there are mistakes, they're all mine and you can let me know if you want to!
> 
> 9/19 update: Ok, so don't kill me. I started posting this as a chapter fic, intending to keep writing it and adding chapters (obviously). But I started this fic a year ago and when I came back to it, I changed a bunch of stuff and the direction it was going isn't really what I want right now. So instead, I'm going to post chapters 1-3 as one ficlet and start a new story with the new stuff that I want to write about. Sorry if that caused confusion for a hot minute!

\------

John Winchester was the only man I'd ever met, up to that point, who could smile and at the same time look like he was dying on the inside. Later on, after he'd seen enough friends die, Dean gained the same uncanny ability - smiling and dying. The Winchester legacy.

John sort of always looked like he was dying a little, except during fights, or around his boys. He was the master of pretending around them. The Great Pretender. Another trait Dean inherited, or copied, I'm not even sure which.

In the beginning, fucking would distract John, too. Maybe that's why I did it. To vanish that dead look from his eyes, even for just a little while...

...  
The beginning

A Tuesday in September,  
Lawrence, Kansas

1:17am  
JW:  
//got cse 4 u in agusta me. mite b djinn. go chk out w Sam asap.

1:18am  
Me:  
//lol. Ok, I'll let Dean know.

1:25am  
JW:  
//who is ths?!

1:25am  
Me:  
//lol again. You texted me, john. How do you not know who you're texting? You obviously thought I was Dean (incorrectly).

1:40am  
JW:  
//dean gve me ths # 4 emrgncs. wtf is lol and if u dnt tll me who u r ill fnd u and kll u

1:41am  
Me:  
//Whoa. Easy, there, cowboy. This is Alanna, Dean's roommate. And lol means laughing out loud. :)

1:42am  
Me:  
//And before you ask, yes, I just woke up a very pissy Dean to give him your message about the case in Maine. Then I called Sam and woke his ass up, too. *grin*

1:49am  
JW:  
//u knw abt wht we do?

1:51am  
Me:  
//Kinda hard not to, with devil's traps everywhere and rock salt always on hand. Not to mention holy water, silver, iron... Need I go on?

1:54am  
JW:  
//who r u agn? hv we met?

1:55am  
Me:  
//Sigh. I’m Alanna, Dean’s roommate. Yes, we’ve met. Like, five times. Jesus, John, how drunk are you right now?

1:59am  
JW:  
//im nt drnk yet. y, u wnt 2 get drnk w me? i remmbr u, ur tht cute hellcat alwys sayng smrtass shit. i like u

2:01am  
Me:  
//Uh, no thanks. I’m good. I was in bed before you woke me up with your text.

2:07am  
JW:  
//wht r u wrng?

2:07am  
Me:  
//Huh?

2:10am  
JW:  
//wht r u wearing?

2:11am  
Me:  
//...

2:13am  
JW:  
//i knw u undrstd me tht time darlin. so?

2:15am  
Me:  
//That is *so* not a good idea.

2:18am  
JW:  
//i thnk its a fckng gr8t idea. ill tll u wht im wearng.

2:18am  
JW:  
// 

2:19am  
JW:  
//get it? nothing. haha

2:21am  
Me:  
//Ok, fuck, that's hot, but this is still a bad idea. You're Dean's dad.

2:23am  
JW:  
//no im not. im just the guy whos strokin himslf hard 4 u rght now

2:24am  
Me:  
//Oh, god, you're going to get me in trouble.

2:27am  
JW:  
//no nd 2 cll me god just yet sweetheart, but i promse ill get u there ;)

2:28am  
Me:  
//John, fuck, we cannot do this.

2:30am  
JW:  
//we hvnt done anythng yet sweetheart. and y not? u hve bf? gf?

2:31am  
Me:  
//No, not exactly... And there is no "yet", because we're not going to do anything.

2:33am  
JW:  
//whtevr u say honey. so ths mr or ms not exactly, they knw ure alive?

2:34am  
JW:  
//btw did the boys leave yet?

2:34am  
JW://btw u nvr tld me wht u r wearing ;)

2:36am  
Me://Dean left to go pick up Sam about 15 minutes ago. Yes, the guy I sort of like knows I'm alive. We're friends. I'm not even sure I like-like him, he's just really cool. Whatever.

2:38am  
JW:  
//and?

2:39am  
Me:  
//And what? And we've been friends a really long time and maybe I don't want to fuck things up by taking the chance.

2:42am  
JW:  
//i thnk u wld say lol. i meant and wht r u wearing

2:44am  
Me:  
//*blush* Whatever. I'm not going to tell you that anyway, so :P

2:55am  
JW:  
//wll thn just cum open the door so i cn c 4 myslf

....

Oh, shit. He's not really here, is he? In my room, I go still as a mouse, listening for any sound that might be out of the ordinary. A few moments pass by, and I start to relax, having heard nothing. I'm just about to text John back when I hear a faint knocking at the front door. No fucking way. No fucking way.

I jump out of bed and pull on some pajama pants as I walk toward the front door of our apartment. I spy one of several bottles of holy water disguised as normal bottled drinking water on the counter and grab it, along with a thin silver blade taped to the back of the door.

"Who is it?" I singsong, saccharine sweet. Glancing through the peephole doesn't do me much good; it's too dark and the man outside could be anyone.

"It's me, sugar. It's John. Now let me in before I freeze my ass off." The gravelly voice is thick with humor, and even muffled through the door as it is, it sends tingles down my spine.

I open the door and John walks over the threshold, over the rock salt line just out of sight below the door's ridge and over the throw rug with the Devils trap painted on the underside. He turns just inside the kitchen and opens his mouth to speak...

...and gets a facefull of holy water. He splutters momentarily, then laughs and wipes his face off with his right hand.

"Good gir--ow! What the fuck!" As he lets his guard down, I slash his left forearm with the silver blade. He quickly and easily grabs the blade from me and throws it into the kitchen sink in annoyance.

"Damnit, girl, I'm not a demon, and I'm not a shapeshifter! Fuck!" He rubs his arm where a thin line of blood was welling up.

"Which is exactly what you'd say if you were, which is why I'm supposed to *check*, right?" I retort, arms crossed.

John chuckles low in his throat, nodding. "Yes, sweetheart. You did good. Reeeeal good." A predatory gleam enters his eyes at this and suddenly the mood shifts to something more heated. He looks me up and down, real slow, stopping to trap my gaze for a long moment, one heartbeat... two... three... before he blinks and releases me from his unwitting hold over me. I inhale a deep breath, not realizing I had been holding mine, keeping still like prey not wanting to draw undue attention to itself.

He seems to leisurely cross the kitchen over to where I'm standing, but as I back up against the counter and realize I'm cornered, it doesn't feel so leisurely anymore. His arms come up on either side of me on the high counter, effectively blocking any escape. His cocky grin feels like another trap, a sexy, stubbled, dimpled, Venus fly trap. I can't stop staring at his mouth. He must be able to tell because he licks his lips slowly; simple, but still effective as fuck. I think I must have made some sort of noise, because he chuckles again, that low rumble in his chest and he's standing so close that I can feel it vibrate from his rib cage this time. John leans forward and at this point I notice that I must have dropped my arms to my sides because he's pressing up against me, grazing my cheek with his lips and licking the shell of my ear. I definitely whimper this time as chills run down my neck and arms. He definitely notices, and breathes into my ear while his teeth have my earlobe captured between them.

"So. You still want to be 'good'?" John pauses to lick his way around the back of my ear, and to swipe his tongue from my neck up to my ear and to gently blow air on the area, before continuing. "Or do you want to be 'bad' with me?" I moan at his words and actions, but John's apparently already decided that I need further convincing because he's kissing along my jaw line toward my mouth.

"I...uh..." Whatever eloquent answer I was going to give is literally swallowed by John, his tongue first caressing my already open lips then delving deep into my mouth. I can't help responding to him, groaning into his mouth. I know this isn't right, but it doesn't feel that way right *now*, and my hands are moving of their own volition around him, clutching his back and pulling him closer. Oh, god, I'm so fucked.

\------

[4:26AM]  
I don’t know how much time has passed; it could be minutes, hours, days… but at some point, I guess John picked me up and walked us to the living room, because we’re now situated on the couch. I’m straddling his lap on the brown faux-suede sofa, grinding down onto his worn blue jeans, doing my damnedest to give his neck a shave with my teeth and lips and tongue.

He chuckles low, that dark gravel rumble running straight to my clit. “No leaving marks, sweetheart,” he says, tapping admonishingly on my hips, where his hands are mostly-passively guiding me as I'm riding his hard-on under his jeans, only every once in a while rocking me forward here or there, or harder just here, or faster then, or slower now.

He’s mostly content to let me do what I please, watching with those inscrutable eyes of his, the ones that don’t miss anything – the hitch of my breath, an eyeflutter, a raised eyebrow, the arch of my back in that one place where I’m most ticklish, my current snort of dissatisfaction.

"Why the fuck not?" I retort, leaning back a little to look him in the eye. "It's not like you don't get way worse out there." I say, nodding my head in the general direction of "outside".

"It's just not professional, darlin'." John states nonchalantly, with a half shrug. His hands haven't stopped gently directing my hips' orbit of his lap, I notice, and smirk to myself.

"'Professional?'" I start laughing. "Oh, that's cute. Tell me, you gotta pay the hunter society dues every year, or do they just take it outta your ass?" I giggle so hard that I snort a little, which makes me giggle even harder. I fall over some, almost off John's lap, and grab onto his jacket to pull myself back onto his lap fully. I lean forward to kiss his lips, expecting him to be laughing with me at the stupid joke.

But John's not laughing. At. All. Uh oh.

We'd had a few tequila shots between the kitchen and the couch, that much I knew, so why's he so serious still? I move off his lap, but crowd close to him on the couch, pressing our knees together.

"Hey, John. John, I was just kidding. Fuck, man, come on. I mean, it's not like... I mean... Shit. Ok, look, I'm sorry, ok? That's it, I'm just sorry. That's all I can say. It was a stupid thing to say. I wasn't thinking. I'm sorry." Then I just. Shut. Up. Because sometimes that's all you can do. Sometimes that's the best thing you can do, is just shut up. And I waited. Still pressing my knee to his, sometimes looking at him, sometimes not, just giving him time.

He startled me when he finally spoke a minute or two later, not because he was angry or loud or because he moved, but because he was so controlled and quiet about it. That's what startled me most. The quiet control of it.

"I'll give you a choice," John said quietly, slowly. "You allow me to 'take it outta your ass', so to speak, or I leave here now and I never come back here again. That might not sound like much, but don't forget that I'm Dean's father, so that means I'll never set foot in his house again as long as he lives here."

He didn't look at me as he gave his ultimatum. I'm not sure why; maybe he didn't want to give away his hand, or maybe he knew that the last half was manipulative as fuck and he was ashamed. Either way, as I stared dumbstruck at John, he was already mentally in his truck, cruising down the highway onto the next town.

\--------

[5:14AM]

"Easy," I say quickly, scooting back a little from John on the couch and pulling my feet up between us. Something in my breezy tone must have pierced the dark place John went to in his mind, because when he looked over at me, there was genuine confusion in his expression that I can't say I've seen very often on John Winchester's face.

I continued my movement, crawling toward him, and eventually stretching out across his lap with my ass ending up directly over his left leg. He still didn't say anything or move, just looked down at me as if trying to figure out Calculus... in Russian.

"This *is* what you meant by 'taking it out of my ass', right, John? You meant to spank me? Or did you plan to fuck me in the ass? Cuz that's not gonna happen. Well... That's *probably* not going to happen." I sassed at John, hoping the snark would snap him out of it even if my actual words didn't.

"Yuh... Yes. Yes, that's what I meant. I just, didn't expect you to, you know..." John rambled, out of character for him.

"What, agree to it?" I asked. John nodded, dumbly. I snickered. "I hope you know this isn't my first rodeo, John." *That* got his attention. John's head snapped up and his eyes flared back to life. At the same time, like it had a mind of its own, his left hand came up from the back of the couch where it had been this whole time, to rest on my pajama-clad ass possessively.

"Really." It wasn't a question. John was considering, his left hand now making small circles around the small of my back, my butt cheeks, the tops of my legs. I turned my head to watch his face, curious to see what this John looked like. He turned to meet my eyes. "Why did you agree so quickly?" he asked, the question burning through his look.

"Pssh, no contest." I answered honestly. I made it sound like a quip, but it's not a joke and we both know it. But now we can both blow it off. I'm no good with emotional confessions, either.

I think I saw him give a slight nod in response, but I couldn't swear to it, because before I can think about it for too long, his right hand comes up to the back of my neck and turns my head away and forces my head to stay in the neutral "down" position. I have a lovely view of the brown faux-suede couch a few inches from my face. Whee.

"So," John says, caressing my ass a little firmer now, squeezing each side, assessing, almost. "Will it be my belt, or my hand?" He pauses, and brings his hand down on my left ass cheek hard enough to sting. I'm still in my pajamas, though, so there's some padding to soften the blow. It's still enough to surprise me, though, and I gasp and jerk forward a little. He tightens his grip on the back of my neck with his right hand and pulls me back unerringly, holds me in place. 

"Before you answer, you should know." He purrs. "You pick my belt, it'll hurt like a sonuvabitch, but I'll go easy on you - five lashes total." John rubs my ass where he just smacked it, making it sting again a little.

"But if you pick my hand..." I can hear John's wicked, slow, smile even if I can't see it. "And I will beat your ass until it wears out." With the last word, John brings his hand down in my other ass cheek, hard, much harder than before, and keeps his hand on the back of my neck, too, so I can't squirm as much. I moan and writhe in his lap and it's only after I pant out several harsh breaths that I realize he's let go and sat back.

I ponder my options, and I don't mean the ones John's just given me. The smug bastard knows that I like what he's doing to me. All of it - the flirting, the making out, and yes, the rough play. So, do I play it cool and act like I'm doing this all to make up for my infraction? Or do I give up the ghost now and let him see how much I really want this?

I let my breath out in as haughty a huff as I can manage, which is pretty considerable, in spite of my compromised position. In my best droll voice a la Downton Abbey, I say on an almost bored sigh, "Well, I suppose if that's the *best* you can do, then I may as well opt for the belt, shouldn't I?" I turn back to the front, calm as you please. Clearly, I can't choose to do things the easy way. Ever.

"Oh, sugar, you ain't seen nothin' yet." John threatens, shifting me off his lap and dumping me into the floor rudely. I splutter, momentarily affronted. John picks me up firmly, but gently, from the floor and steers me around the couch into the dining area. "And your smart mouth just cost you your choice, sweetheart."

As he pulls some zipties out of his back pocket, because of course he has some on him just in case, this *is* John fucking Winchester, after all, it starts to dawn on me that I might be in over my head on this one. John nudges me to the edge of my dining table - my own fucking table - and bends me over it face-first at the waist, stepping up behind me. He quickly ties my wrists together, and holds them in one hand, kneeling down to tie one of my ankles to a table leg. I make a noise of protest as I watch this part, but the look he gives me shuts me up quick. Unusual for me, to be sure.

Now he walks around the table, still with my hands in one of his, as he pulls out a length of rope from inside a boot. Really? Who keeps rope in a boot? Not even Dean does that. That I know of. Hm, I'll have to check his boots. Or ask him. I mentally shrug.

Meanwhile, John's been busy with the rope, tying some complicated knot thing and slipping it around and through the ties on my wrists. He tugs now on the rope and it pulls me forward, as I had straightened to a somewhat standing position as soon as he walked around the table. I lose my balance a little, wobbling, and John grins a wicked smile. An evil, wicked smile. And pulls the rope again.  
This time I fall toward the table. There's nothing I can do to brace my fall; John has my hands in his, and my waist is firmly against the opposite side of the table. Just before I land on my face, John catches my forearms from underneath and gently lowers me to the table.

"You're an asshole!" I spit out at him, mad. He's already got the upper hand. Literally. There's no need to be a dick about it.

He laughs at me. "That's right, sweetheart. I am. And now you're about to find out how much of one I can be." John stretches my arms across the table, but not too tight, and ties off the rope under the table. He tests it a few times, tugs on my arms, moves them a few times, presumably making sure I can't get away from his makeshift torture rack.

Once he's satisfied, he walks back around the table and leans down close to my left ear. "Don't forget you asked for this, sweetheart. And when you're begging me for mercy - and you will, I promise you that much - let's hope I can be a 'professional' about it." And with that, John kisses my cheek and walks off, leaving me tied over my dining room table.


End file.
